That Old Feeling
by Saskia Mitchell
Summary: Swiess, general mid-S3. It seemed improbable, at best, but she’d been so lucky. Danny, then Vaughn, and now that low pinch, that quickness of breath, it was coming again like a wave cresting, rolling slowly but surely towards shore.
1. Part 1

That Old Feeling (part 1/?)

By: Saskia Mitchell

Rating: PG, for now.

Notes: This is not anywhere close to my first fanfic, but it is the first Alias fic I started, and my first Sweiss fic, to boot! It's more a series of vignettes strung together than anything else. Thanks for reading, hope you like. This is post-Crossings, but Lauren isn't evil because I choose not to believe that JJ had any part in making his own show suck this season.

* * *

Ruby and emerald lights gleamed off the dark, slick pavement vividly, made more vibrant by the dark, cold night. Standing water at the curbs and in potholes turned into brilliant pools of too-bright color.

Sydney Bristow sat at the helm of her dark, Agency-issued sedan, restlessly drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. There was something she loved about driving around aimlessly at night, but tonight it just felt like an excuse. Usually driving made her feel like she had to answer to no one or nothing, it felt like she had all the freedom in the world. Ironically, it was the only freedom she did have. Currently her life was locked into the Agency, her mother and father, and in some small way, to Vaughn, though he was married and carrying on in his own life with very little regard to her. It seemed that all that was important these days was tracking down leads on the Covenant, discovering all she could about Julia Thorne and what she was made to do after adopting that persona.

All the things she'd once treasured about her life: her friendships with Will and Francie, the restaurant, school, busting her ass to make good grades while flying off to the four corners of the world at practically a moments notice: those were all part of that hazy history, memories that were spread like ashes across the sea the day they buried her. She had no part of that existence anymore; she had no friends, no social life, no life at all, really. Just the job, an emotionally-stunted father and a serial killer for a mother. Life was dandy.

But yet, even through the pain and the uncertainty, there was hope, a hope she couldn't quite define, one that unfurled low in her stomach like a night-blooming flower that only came alive at its own will. Something was changing, she was starting to feel that wild, dizzy sensation she was sure had been lost to her forever. She'd always been the type to think that love came around once in a lifetime, and that person would be your soulmate: bound to you forever in matrimony, or love, or some intimate something. Yet she'd already been lucky enough to find it twice: true love from two loves in as many years. It seemed improbable, at best, but she'd been so lucky. Danny, then Vaughn, and now that low pinch, that quickness of breath, it was coming again like a wave cresting, rolling slowly but surely towards shore.

She pulled onto the dark freeway, shifting into fifth gear before reaching over to turn the air conditioner on. It was going to be a long night. She usually worked out problems or difficult situations with chronology. If one could pinpoint the moment an event started, one could come closer to understanding it by way of determining a catalyst to said event.

But the problem was, Sydney couldn't be sure when it _had _started. First, they had just been pals, exchanging jokes at work, sharing stories and laughs, he was her "conduit to Vaughn" after all, and much more fun-loving and upbeat than her oh-so-serious lover. She just assumed his job was less important than Vaughn's, he obviously didn't have the worries and cares that Vaughn did. She didn't overanalyze it. At that time, she took him for exactly what he was: an acquaintance she rarely saw, but enjoyed when she did. During Vaughn's occasional bouts of madness, they'd cling to one another, telling themselves and each other that this was a rational response: they were uniting for the greater good of saving a friend.

When her mother had shot him, Sydney couldn't deny that she'd felt guilty, though, she supposed, it wasn't a very rational response. She hadn't been the one to pull the trigger, after all. But the guilt came, not just because it was _her mother_ that had done it, but also because, ironically, she didn't have the time to feel more guilty—not then—she had her mother to track down, and to kill, if necessary. Despite all of that, he was still only Vaughn's friend, and not withstanding the occasional surreptitious visit to the hospital, she didn't have much contact with him during his recovery. When he came back to work, he had a renewed lease on life, and Sydney saw him out and about more, out with Vaughn, out on missions, out in the Rotunda. When the Alliance was taken down and she was free to be with Vaughn, she suddenly found herself spending a lot more time with and around Weiss, and she was glad to be able to count him in her small circle of friends.

Then Hong Kong happened, and everything changed. It was like she'd lived out an entire lifetime and died in Hong Kong, her blood polluting the streets, her stains littering the sidewalks. She wasn't just Sydney Bristow anymore...she was _Sydney Bristow_...back from Hell or Death or Torment. For Sydney Bristow, it had been a long, dreamless sleep in Hong Kong, and it was being awake that was the nightmare.

She never wanted to go back, she refused to go back. Any missions that required travel in the East were assigned to other agents, Marshall translated all confidential documents before bringing them to the table in debrief, even Chinese take-out sounded unappetizing. She blocked out the memory and the pain the way she blocked out everything else: with singular determination and a sacrifice of her own emotions. She never wanted to go back to that short, shining moment when the glint of his ring met her eye and she was forced to confront reality: Vaughn hadn't _waited_.

Slowly, that pain faded with the realization that it hadn't been merely a pleasant nap from which she'd awoken on that cold, dirty street. It _was_ Hell. It was easier to work through something if you knew exactly what it was, and in a strange way, the more Sydney learned, the less hurt she felt. Julia Thorne was someone that Sydney could barely put a face to, and yet, she had her face. Will was gone, Vaughn had his own problems; her father, with all his good intentions, was still distant and curt; and Dixon was her impersonal, all-business boss.

She had no one to turn to, no one to talk to, no one to do the things Will had been so adept at: fixing the cranky garbage disposal in her kitchen, downing tequila shooters, talking far into the night about the cultural differences between Dostoyevsky and Pasternak. She resigned herself to the fact that she deserved this. She'd killed off her two best friends: one to a very real death, and the other to Witness Protection; the lover who would have been the last man she ever loved was married to someone else, and that wasn't even counting Danny. She confronted the fact that her life sucked.

Until in-stepped the person she least expected: the lover's best friend.

If one of her single girlfriends had taken a shine to Vaughn and asked if he had a friend, Sydney certainly wouldn't have rattled off Weiss' name and number as a ticket to happily-ever-after. And it wasn't because Weiss loved the eclairs, or even because he had always given Vaughn a hard time about being with her. It was more because he was _just_ Weiss: ordinary, boring, vanilla Weiss who didn't have a thing to recommend him. He didn't have Vaughn's wit or charm, he didn't have her father's dexterity or grace, and he certainly didn't have Will's enthusiasm or athleticism.

Sometime in the first couple of weeks after she awoke to her new, _great_ life, it hit her like a piano falling from a fourth-story window. Weiss hadn't needed any of those things to be one of the best friends she'd ever _ever_ have. He helped her move a house-full of furniture across town into a home he'd helped her find—a house close to his own—where he kept an eye on her, checking in with her at least once a day. He helped her drown her sorrows and talk out the whole sordid mess of Vaughn and Lauren, not to mention the residual guilt and pain over Will and the Francie-who-wasn't-really-Francie. He saw her immediate need and he stepped in to fill the void in her life, exactly when she needed him to, exactly when it was right for him to be there.

She realized she never would have made it without his calm rationale, his head for numbers, his endless patience. He was a balm to her soul that Vaughn had never been, he quietly bubbled beneath the surface until he was needed. He didn't make jokes that resulted in delicate snickers at the _irony of it all_, his hilarity produced full belly-laughs that left her breathless, with aching sides. And she found he did have his own inherent grace, she'd just been too oblivious to see it, caught up in the beauty of Vaughn. Vaughn had smooth moves to be certain; he was strong and fast. But Weiss faded into crowds, his innocent countenance put people at ease, and that's when the bad shit really went down. People, evil and terrible human beings even, trusted this dough-faced American kid who would pretend not to understand the native language, or ask for directions from elderly passersby, or walk right into security firms and embassies with the kind of look that said "I'm helpless."

Sydney admired the fact that he didn't try to prove himself on his down time. She'd seen him look all kinds of ridiculous on missions, and he'd never once tried to impress or make up for his seeming utter incompetence. Instead, he brought over beer and food and they'd watch movies or play trivia games and he'd listen to her rant and rave and let go of the day slowly, never asking anything in return.

He'd searched dozens of used bookstores looking for his first gift to her; he had agonized that it was the right thing to do. Vaughn once gave her an all-inclusive pass to a day spa that she'd never used. She explained to Will that after dressing up and pretending to be someone more than half of the time, her free time needed to be spent being herself, not trussed up in some salon with a stylist's fingers up her nose. She almost felt guilty about that. It wasn't the last gift Weiss had given her, either. For Christmas it was a warm down-comforter for her bed, the color that perfectly matched the walls he'd just helped her paint. For her birthday it had been a framed copy of her diploma, the one that had been lost in the fire. God only knew whom he had bribed at the University to get another copy printed for her. _Why_ he was so doting, she didn't know; she could only rejoice in the love and thoughtfulness that he bestowed upon her, she basked in the glory of being adored.

He listened steadfastly, if not sadly, when she explained her trip to Russia with Will, playing Eurotrash in the hotel and playing James Bond under the covers. He didn't comment, didn't judge, didn't act surprised or even scandalized, as Vaughn had. She even came clean about North Korea, and when she mentioned that she told Vaughn about Will and moving on, Weiss didn't even snort his disbelief. What she didn't tell him at the time was that she really _was_ moving on. She couldn't live her life tied to Vaughn and his drama, despite the almost-overwhelming love she still felt for him.

And the more time she spent with Weiss, the more happy she found that she was. With Vaughn there was always something so dark and tragic about everything, even when he had been with her, and happy, there was always that undercurrent of sadness and distrust and she never quite break free and breach the surface. Weiss just gave and gave and gave, and never seemed to run out of love or joy, which he gave in equal measure.

The first inkling that she had, before it was a real feeling, was after the trip to North Korea, once she'd started re-evaluating her relationship with Vaughn. She'd never really thought of him as deceitful before, and she still wasn't sure that was the case. He had always been her constant, her ally—the only one she could ever trust. And now that he was confused about himself, about his marriage, he was, by proxy, confusing her in the process, and things between them had become infinitely more sticky.

It was Weiss who pointed out that she had more than just Vaughn to trust. Despite his more clandestine connections, Jack had always done whatever it took—consorting with the enemy, asking Sloane—her mother—for help—to protect her. Marshall had never once betrayed her trust, never once hurt her or tried her. And then there was Weiss himself, a rock in the stormy sea of her emotions, her confidante, her best friend, ready to be by her side at a moment's notice, and faded into the wallpaper when she was on to bigger and better things. Sydney had been fooling herself for a very long time. She'd idolized and heroized Vaughn for so long that it was hard to let that illusion go. But she _was_ letting it go, slowly...

Then one day, sitting across the coffee table from Weiss, eating Mexican food that was so good she was thinking she might never again eat anything else, the truth dawned on her like the first light from an underground tunnel, speeding towards her as if it were a train. Sydney realized in that moment that she could spend the rest of her life sitting across tables from Weiss and be perfectly happy, just delighted that she had him. Her jaw dropped with this revelation, her gaze coming to fix upon her friend almost reverently.

"What?" he asked, noticing her regard with apprehension. "Have I got sour cream...somewhere?" he gestured at his face generally with the burrito he held in one hand. Sydney cocked her head, not answering, until Weiss realized something more was happening, and he laid his burrito back down on his plate. "Syd, you okay?"

Sydney did the only thing she could think to do: she leaned forward, and kissed him. No ordinary kiss, and no quick peck, no grandmotherly affection. The kiss was hard, and a little desperate, a needy tangle of lips that she hoped to prove herself with. Weiss backed away fast, his head down and his ears burning in shame.

"I won't be the rebound," he said quietly, a little breathlessly.

"You're not," she began to say, but the protest died on her lips when Weiss stood up and with mumbled excuses, retreated out of her front door and across the hedge that separated their residences. She sat stock-still, dumbfounded.

She couldn't believe he'd left her. For the first time in the history of their friendship, she hadn't needed to kick him out at the end of the night, force him to go home. He didn't even give her a chance to explain, which was unusual for patient Weiss. Of course, she admitted, it wasn't like her to leap across tables to lay one on an unsuspecting friend, either. Regardless, Weiss should have at least heard her out on her decision. Being spurned felt like being plunged back into the dark—the utter blackness that did not allow for hope, but only that lonely tickle that told her she would be alone forever. Her guilt told her something altogether different—this wasn't just _her_ choice, _her_ decision; it belonged to Weiss, too.

Once when she was a teenager, Jack had told her that she was the smartest, most beautiful girl in the entire world. The small amount of arrogance that she nurtured over the years had led her, almost unwillingly, to that conclusion: Weiss should thank his lucky stars that she had even chosen him.

_But why would he risk his heart on you? You're nothing but a liability. _

And that was really when it had all started, Sydney thought as she downshifted into fourth gear and exited the freeway. In the mind, she knew it couldn't have been more than a couple of hours before, but to her heart it felt like days. The amber glow from the streetlight bathed the interior of her car and she could clearly make out her reflection in the rear-view mirror. She looked haunted.

It started the moment she humbled herself to look at the situation from Weiss' point of view. For all their history and hardships and sacrifices for one another, she didn't realize that she might actually be falling in love with Weiss until that moment.

To be continued...


	2. Part 2

That Old Feeling (part 2/?)

By: Saskia Mitchell

Rating: PG, for now.

Notes: This is more a series of vignettes strung together than anything else. Thanks for reading, hope you like. This is post-Crossings, but Lauren isn't evil because I choose not to believe that JJ had any part in making his own show suck this season.

* * *

Weiss wanted to kick himself. Beautiful, brainy Sydney Bristow had given him the kiss to end all kisses, and he had backed out with both hands up. Not just backed out, but rejected her in the process. It wasn't as if he hadn't thought about it, because he had. Prodigious amounts of time were spent imaging what her breasts looked like under her prim silk shells and wool blazers. He had many times fantasized about running his hands up her calves to her hips and waist, feeling the softness of skin, the warmth her body provided. Hell, every guy in the Ops Center wanted to fuck her, and most didn't make any secret of the fact. But Weiss did.

Sydney Bristow was more than just his best friend's girl; she was the cheerleader fantasy that all the guys wanted but never got. And certainly not guys like Weiss. She was sexy but didn't flaunt it; was beautiful but act like it; and she was smarter than most everyone Weiss had ever met before in his life. He was intrigued by her, to be sure, but he had also been very _very_ careful not to fall for her. Like a black magic woman, she was nothing but trouble. As long as he kept her in the "sister and friends" category, he felt safe.

And she'd blown it all with one very impulsive, very ill-timed kiss. Weiss, being no kind of a suave ladies man, had decided to let this whole thing blow over while pretending only casual interest in the matter. Which is why, when he had run into her in the hall outside the Ops Center that morning and she opened her mouth to speak, he had hastily interrupted.

"It's already forgotten, Syd," he nodded earnestly. She didn't answer, didn't narrow her eyes, and she berate him for his audacity, so he considered all of those very good signs. But she hadn't spoken to him since, either, and he wasn't sure what to make of that. Lunch around the conference table was frosty, even though the debrief was hot. Vaughn and Marshall were headed to TaiPei to break into a computer lab that was the hotbed of Russian espionage at the moment, one that had alleged ties to Irina Derevko. Lauren was in the midst of her internal investigations, always casting a suspicious eye towards Sydney that Weiss couldn't help but notice. Jack was working with Dixon on a plan to extract a defector of the French secret police, and Weiss could see that no one in the room believed that was _all_ that they were planning. Weiss had his own assignment with a team, standard surveillance of a Covenant meeting in Wales, with instructions to intercept certain documents should they change hands to a Cuban nationalist rumored to be on the guest list. And for the first time that Weiss could remember, Sydney didn't have her own mission. He could see she was a bit taken aback, but she covered it nicely by feigning relief.

"I have about a million reports to finish," she smiled charmingly. Weiss told himself as the meeting concluded that he'd done the right thing, by pushing her away. She was fragile, and confused, and would probably thank him later for not taking advantage of her lonely heart. The rest of the team disbursed, laughing and talking as they stood, pushing in their chairs and walking towards the doors. Sydney brushed past him for the exit, and Weiss didn't have to think about whether or not to roughly grab her arm, the way Vaughn would have done once upon a time, because he knew he would never have the courage to do it. Marshall noticed the slight, as did Jack, but thankfully neither of them said anything to draw attention to the matter. Weiss knew that undoubtedly Marshall would corner him later and stutter out his observations, but Weiss would just as soon avoid that conversation for now.

He managed to dodge his colleagues for the rest of the afternoon, and slipped out early on pretenses to pack for his flight. In truth, he'd known about the mission for several days and had been prepared, but he wanted time to himself. It was selfish, sure, but it was also rare that he took anything for himself, even vacation time, so he couldn't feel guilty. Sitting on his couch, still in his suit and tie, he couldn't stop thinking about Sydney. Why would she have kissed him? It wasn't like Weiss was oblivious to the situation, or blind to her feelings to Vaughn. Did she really think he would be the rebound guy? Maybe the problem was simply that she _wasn't_ thinking.

A knock at the door startled him, and he checked the clock. Five o'clock, and only another hour until he had to leave to catch his flight. Weiss stopped in the foyer to make sure his fly was zipped (_discretion is the better part of valor_), then opened the door to find Sydney Bristow standing on his front step.

Her eyes were brimming with tears, and she looked so lost and sad that Weiss couldn't help but envelop her in a hug. She clung to his broad shoulders, her tears soaking into his dress shirt, her mascara staining the shoulder.

"I'm sorry," was all she could manage to say. Weiss carefully brushed her hair back, whispered soothing nonsense comfort words until she calmed, taking deep breaths in an effort to stop crying.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," Weiss held her closer, rubbing her back tenderly with his big hands.

"I'm sorry anyway," she replied, pulling back to look up at him. "I don't want to fight with you. You're one of the only friends I have," her expression was so tragic that Weiss embraced her again, his only wish to take his friend's sorrow and wash it away.

"I already told you, it's forgotten," Weiss told her gently, and then watched her pull herself back out of the comfort of his arms and wipe her tears away.

Their eyes met, and Weiss realized how incredibly close they were still standing, practically toe-to-toe. His traitorous body responded as Sydney's soft breasts brushed against his chest. Her eyes held no trace of the mystery that he usually found there. She wanted him, still.

She snaked her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, curling them against his warm skin. Her taut, lush mouth came towards his slowly, giving him plenty of time to back away. He didn't.

Their mouths met tenderly at first, then with more fire as Sydney moaned and pushed her body closer to Weiss. Her tongue played gently against his barely-parted lips. Breathless, they broke apart. Before Weiss could object, Sydney leaned forward.

"I've been thinking about this for a while, this is not some impulsive move. You're not a replacement for Vaughn, or anyone else, and I'm going to prove it to you." A beautiful pink tongue darted out to wet her lips, and Weiss knew he was done for.

* * *

Despite Sydney's promise to prove to Weiss that she was over Vaughn, she'd been playing it remarkably cool. So cool, in fact, that Weiss hadn't seen her in almost a week. He wondered if she was playing hard to get, but games weren't really Sydney's style. Moreover, _he'd_ been the one to rebuff _her_...if anyone would be playing hard to get, it would have been him. Regardless, she was leaving in an hour for Afghanistan on a mission, and Weiss doubted he would see her before her flight.

Weiss couldn't deny that Sydney's brazen offer made his body want to stand up and give a twenty-one gun salute. Unfortunately, when one considered beautiful women, it was rarely their beauty that ended up being a problem. Usually it was the jealousy of another man, or a wandering eye, or enough emotional baggage to fill a railway car. And Sydney had one, if not all of those problems, with others to spare. And that wasn't even considering _Vaughn_...

Even though Vaughn wasn't technically Sydney's handler anymore, Weiss still thought he was a lucky bastard. Vaughn had been more like a partner since he'd been field-rated, and they no longer had to hide their missions from SD-6. Vaughn got to see all the slinky costumes, the ridiculous accents and the daring escapades that Syd found so necessary. Since she didn't have an official partner, it was usually whomever Dixon, and before him, Kendall, felt was most suited for the mission. Given their history, their _chemistry_...that was usually Vaughn. Sydney only occasionally asked for Weiss specifically, and despite wanting to work with her more often, he thought it best to keep their personal friendship or relationship or whatever it was on the down-low.

So Vaughn got to be her partner, Weiss got Comm and Marshall got Tech. Just another boring day infiltrating the very depths of international espionage for one's country.

The mission to Afghanistan was fairly simple in theory: Sydney and Vaughn were to break in to a Covenant-held warehouse to intercept some Rambaldi document from a Covenant operative to her handler. Extraction in less than five hours, piece of cake. Weiss was stationed in LA, handling communications via satellite, and it was Jack who would be running back-up with a small group of Afghan nationals who were loyal to the CIA.

His mind flashed back to his Comm mission over the Atlantic—when Sydney infiltrated the Alliance aircraft to access Server 47. Even though he knew this mission was less risky, he still felt the ruffling of unease on the back of his neck. He wasn't a superstitious man, and he wouldn't attribute this to some numinous cause, but he felt something in his gut. Danger.

But like all men in his position, how do you explain a hunch?

* * *

Vaughn watched Sydney from across the aisle of the plane and marveled at how fucked up life could be. From the very first moment he'd seen her—he still called it the Bozo hair, the swollen jaw, the ridiculous story she told—he knew he loved her. It was obvious from her statement that she loved her friends, she loved her father, she loved Dixon and her country and all she wanted was what was best for national security. Despite tremendous risk, she was brave enough to go back to SD-6, to be a double agent, to fight for truth and freedom. And she couldn't take orders, that was for damn sure...but he loved that, too. He loved the arrogant self-righteousness that she had the first time he'd met her in the Blood Drive Van, he loved her humility and vulnerability the night she called him to the pier to talk about her father.

And over the months that followed, every day meant falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole, becoming so much more of a believer than he'd ever thought he'd be. He could barely remember what he had ever seen in Alice, much less why he was still with her.

Vaughn never was a very good liar, not to himself, anyway. He still loved Sydney. He thought about her constantly, he often found he couldn't look Lauren in the face, for fear his cheeks and ears would burn with shame at his thoughts and feelings. Lauren wasn't funny, or kind, or generous like Sydney. She wasn't as smart, or as quick on her feet. She wasn't as sexy or as beautiful as Sydney, at least in Vaughn's guilty opinion. He did love Lauren, she was intelligent, and they got along very well. But she wasn't Sydney, and she never would be, and that wasn't her fault.

Vaughn didn't want to leave his wife. He'd made a commitment, and he'd built that on love and trust. He didn't want to leave his wife, but he didn't want to be without Sydney, either. A choice had to be made somewhere, a sacrifice taken, and he thought regretfully that he might not know which one was right until it was already too late.

* * *

Sydney's comm link switched on and the husky sound of her voice transmitted straight to Weiss' ears. _And his groin_.

"Mountaineer to Base, do you copy?"

"I've got you loud and clear, Mountaineer," Weiss advised, taking a long sip of his warm coffee.

"Testing, Boy Scout to Base," Vaughn near-shouted.

"Copy that, Boy Scout," Weiss adjusted the volume on his earpiece as he monitored their progress across the rocky terrain.

"We're approaching the compound, anything on the satellite?" Weiss could hear the rustling of grass and brush accompanying Sydney's question.

He swung his chair around to both screens. "Nothing on the satellite and nothing coming through on Infrared," he reported. "You are clear to enter."

"Entering the compound," came Sydney's tense whisper a few minutes later. Weiss heard Vaughn's grunts of exertion and knew it must have been a tight squeeze through the trap door. He was suddenly glad he was in LA at his desk, munching on a doughnut—even if it was cold.

Sydney had memorized the blue prints and electricity grids to the compound on her flight across the Atlantic, neither she nor Vaughn were carrying a video transmitter. Despite having the satellite feed and their heat signatures on Infrared, Weiss was basically in the dark.

Which is why when he heard shots fired, his heart nearly pounded out of his chest. He heard Vaughn's groans, and the sounds of flesh meeting flesh in what sounded like intense hand-to-hand combat. Sydney wasn't making her usual snappy jokes, and Weiss' worry was growing.

"Mountaineer, do you copy? I heard shots fired...Boy Scout, I need confirmation of shots fired, do you read me?...Mountaineer, Boy Scout, somebody better copy me ASAP!" Weiss was sure his voice trembled.

Another punch was thrown and a liquid snort came through over the earpiece.

"Boy Scout, do you copy?"

One last punch and then Vaughn's beleaguered sigh came through. "I copy, Base. We were ambushed. Sydney was shot in the vest, I'm not sure if she's down. I just knocked this guy out, we were separated."

"Copy that, Boy Scout, I'm sending back-up," Weiss rolled his chair down to a different bank of monitor screens and switched his comm link to another frequency.

"Freelancer, this is Base, do you copy?"

"I'm here," was Jack's gruff response.

"Mountaineer and Boy Scout were ambushed, send the team in," Weiss ordered, belatedly wondering if Jack was at all put off by his panic.

Jack didn't say another word. Over the other channel, Weiss could hear Vaughn's harsh breathing, he was obviously running, but Weiss didn't know where or how, considering he didn't have video feed and Vaughn hadn't indicated if he had been hurt in the scuffle or the gunfight. The only direction he had was over the satellite feed.

"Boy Scout, I show you in the southwest corner of the building, Mountaineer is steadily moving north."

"Anyone else on the heat signature?"

"No one," Weiss could hear the slapping of Vaughn's shoes against cement floors. He wondered if Sydney could still hear their conversation, or if her comm link had been taken from her completely.

"How many stories does the warehouse have?"

"Just one, so far as I can tell," Vaughn panted.

"It shouldn't be hard to find her, then," Weiss quipped, amazed that he was keeping his cool. Jack's team of eight red dots appeared on the edge of the radar, and they were moving rapidly towards the compound. Considering the cluster formation and the speed, Weiss determined they were in a vehicle of some kind. "Backup is approaching fast, from the southwest corner, Boy Scout."

"Copy that," Vaughn rasped, then went quiet. Weiss listened carefully as Vaughn effectively went radio silent, switching frequencies to hear Jack's communications. Vaughn continued to move away from the entrance, getting closer and closer to Sydney with each second that passed.

With the benefit of the dark, there was no way of knowing how many were with Sydney, and obviously wearing some sort of anti-thermal fabrics, Weiss was useless in his little lab.

He heard the rapid report of machine gun fire, not knowing where it was coming from or who fired shots. He listened with dry-mouthed horror as the infidels screamed and retreated. At some point, Vaughn found Sydney and revived her, because Weiss heard her liquid cough and then her assertion that she was okay.

Over Syd's comm link, Weiss could hear Jack joining them, and after determining Vaughn really had been shot in the fight, Jack picked Sydney up to carry her back to the truck.

"Backup extraction successful, Base, going Radio Silent," Vaughn switched off his earpiece before Weiss even confirmed he understood the communication. Jack, Sydney, Vaughn and the backup team boarded whatever transportation Jack had managed to commandeer, and they high-tailed it across the plain until they were off satellite radar. Weiss took his earpiece out and nearly threw it across the room. He looked at Marshall across the divided partition.

"I hate working Comm." Marshall just stared.

* * *

Jack sat with his daughter for most of the way across the Atlantic, and Sydney could tell by the antsy look on Vaughn's face that he was starting to think he wouldn't get a moment alone with her the entire flight. Jack must have sensed Vaughn's predicament as well, because about the time they crossed over Ohio, Jack almost-begrudgingly made his excuses and escaped to the back of the plane.

Vaughn pretended to read for another ten minutes before moving over and sliding in the seat next to Sydney. She bit back a smile, he was so predictable. With a wave of regret, she remembered in that moment the night she had dinner with Will and Emily at the Sloane's home. Vaughn had told her she was really pretty. Her inner smile faded to a sigh.

"Hi," Vaughn offered, his brow quirked in that charming way that Sydney used to find so adorable, once upon a dream.

"Hey," Sydney's reply was let out with a long breath, she felt about the most exhausted she'd ever felt before in her life.

"I was sitting over there thinking that I almost lost you...again," Vaughn's nimble fingers brushed against his own bandaged arm. The bullet had grazed his arm and left a nasty burn across his bicep.

"It hit the vest. Hurt like hell, but I'll live," Sydney touched her own abdomen reflectively. It could have been a head shot, she knew that. She always knew that one of these times she could really die, but it was easier to let the adrenaline kick in, to count on that instead.

"Sydney, I...I want you to know that..." he huffed in frustration at not being able to say the words they both really wanted—and needed—to hear. He settled for: "I think about you all the time."

"I know you do," Sydney sighed, slightly moving her head to look at his profile, her voice trembling only slightly. "I...do too, I can't help it."

"Maybe we should talk about..."

"No," Sydney interrupted, then turned towards Vaughn; all interest in her brief gone. "Vaughn, you're married. And you're going to stay married. And I don't want to hear anything...that is, I don't want you to _say_ anything that's just going to make this harder for us. We can't be together. It's not fair to Lauren, and I won't be a cheat."

"I never asked you to..." Vaughn started, incensed.

"I know you didn't," Sydney shook her head, her eyes filling with unshed, _unshedable_ tears. "But if we keep doing this, going over it again and again as if we could do something different to change everything, one of us is going to break. And I'm more worried that it's going to be me," her gaze focused on his lapel, the gentle bulge of his Adam's apple, the spicy scent of his aftershave.

"I understand," Vaughn's soft voice was tender; he was always so tender with her.

"I'm trying to move on with my life," she met his gaze and tried not to falter. "I really am."

"Good," Vaughn nodded, swallowing hard. "Good." He stood without another word, and went back to his seat. Jack returned a few minutes later, and Sydney rested her head on his shoulder, glad he was there for her the way he'd never been when she was a child. Because for all the times when she was growing up, between childhood, and adolescence and early adulthood, all the times when she longed for a familiar voice, for a _mother_, she knew now she never needed her father more than she did right then.

To be continued...


	3. Part 3

That Old Feeling (part 3/?)

By: Saskia Mitchell

Rating: PG, for now.

Notes: This is more a series of vignettes strung together than anything else. Thanks for reading, hope you like. This is post-Crossings, but Lauren isn't evil because I choose not to believe that JJ had any part in making his own show suck this season.

* * *

It was a Thursday night and Eric Weiss felt very alone. Maybe it was the thought that Sydney had almost died on her mission in Afghanistan. Maybe it was the fact that this was the first "Pizza Night" she was going to miss in months. Maybe it was just a passing sensation of isolation, he couldn't quite tell. Still, he found himself in the kitchen, preparing for everything just as he did every other Thursday night. Drinking his pre-dinner Shiner, cleaning up as he went along, wearing his "Kiss the Cook" apron which never seemed to bring much of a response, even when he wasn't alone.

The dough had been prepared, and the sauce and extras added, and Weiss was about to put it in the oven when he realized that he had put all of Syd's favorite toppings on instead of his own. He would have almost found it amusing, if it hadn't been for the lingering feeling of uneasiness at how deeply she had already entrenched herself in his life and into his consciousness. He didn't change it, though.

After putting the pizza in to bake, he wandered back through the living room to straighten up the stray newspapers and coffee cups he'd allowed to accrue over the week with no one around to be impressed or disgusted by the state of cleanliness. It was on his way back to the kitchen that he saw the flash of headlights on the street, and his curiosity beckoned him to the windows flanking his front door. He moved the curtain aside to see the non-descript coupe pull into his neighbor's driveway. Despite all the worrying and the grief, Sydney was home again safely from another mission.

She was out of the car and waving Vaughn on his way after just a few seconds and Weiss raised his eyebrows in a faint sense of surprise. He retreated back to the kitchen to check on the pizza and discard his beer bottle before popping open a cold one. He was just finishing up when the doorbell rang, and even though he knew who it was, it gave him a little chill to know she had come right over. When he opened the door, she practically vaulted into his arms.

"Hey, you gave us quite a scare," Weiss admitted with a small laugh of relief, holding her close. "I thought they would hold you in interrogation forever, I was going to eat without you."

"But it's Pizza Night!" Sydney protested, pulling out of the embrace. "You know I never miss Pizza Night."

"Yes, but it's the Pizza Night after you almost _died_," Weiss reminded her, rolling his eyes.

"It's still Pizza Night," she insisted with a wink, brushing her lips across his cheek before dancing away.

"Vaughn didn't stay long," Weiss observed nonchalantly.

"As I said, it's Pizza Night. No time for delays," she bent over and opened the door to the oven and took a huge, apparently satisfying whiff before letting it clang closed. She had managed to stop off at her own house to change into capri pants and a ribbed top, which hugged her breasts in the most captivating way. Weiss couldn't stop staring as she helped herself to a beer.

"So I wasn't sure which one you would want," Sydney's voice brought Weiss back to the present moment.

"Huh?"

"The movie," Sydney held up the plastic bag with Vulcan Video printed in bright letters on the plastic. "I couldn't remember which one we'd agreed on, so I brought them both." She pulled them out of the bag and looked at each before displaying them for him. "_Labyrinth_ and the _Dark Crystal_."

"When did you have time to rent movies?" he laughed as he took one of the cassettes into his hand.

"On the way home, I made Vaughn stop."

Weiss laughed again, "Stopping to rent movies, rushing home for Pizza Night—he's going to be hurt that we didn't invite him."

Sydney didn't share the moment of amusement. "Vaughn has his own family now. You, Pizza Night...that's mine," she replied selfishly.

Weiss' heart, for reasons he couldn't explain, soared.

"How about _Labyrinth_?" He cleared his throat. "Hot rock stars in skintight pants and what could go wrong?"

Sydney just smiled.

* * *

They argued all the way to the video store: Weiss wanted an action movie to give his surround sound a run for it's money, and Sydney wanted a comedy, to take her mind of the drama of her life, she proposed. It was a fruitless argument, really, Weiss knew in the end he would give in to Sydney's whims.

In the spirit of compromise, she was trying to wrack her brain for funny action movies and was coming up short.

"We could rent something like _Spiderman_..." she suggested gaily.

"Superhero movies, Syd? They're so dumb," Weiss insisted, pulling into the parking lot of the shopping center. "They're like spy movies, they get it all wrong."

"Okay, well...hmmm...Jackie Chan thinks he's funny now, right?"

"In theory..."

"Ooh! We could go for a classic! What about _The Princess Bride_?"

"Too girlie," Weiss rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

"Okay," she mused a moment, staring out of the window as if the dull view of the car park would inspire her somehow. "I can't think of anything! Let's just rent something funny," she insisted finally, exasperated.

"The only genius I know is giving up? We're renting a movie, not performing brain surgery."

"I've been dead for two years, you know," she reminded him almost-cheerfully. "And I wasn't exactly Gene Siskel before that, either."

Weiss found a parking space and began to steer in what he lovingly called "the old boat." He held the door of the video store open for Sydney, and then wrapped his arm around her shoulders companionably as they perused the racks.

"Hey, we could rent _Scream_!" Weiss picked up the box on the way down the Horror aisle. "It's funny."

Sydney wrinkled her nose and shook her head, "nothing bloody." They continued on, bypassing Science Fiction, as well as all the rows of Drama with silent, mutual agreement. Weiss sighed begrudgingly when they reached the Comedy aisle and began to search the A's.

"_Adventures in Babysitting_!" Sydney's delight was almost incandescent. "I used to love this movie."

Weiss cringed. "You and the rest of the free world. But you didn't have a sister that would make you watch it over and over."

"Fine," she conceded, putting it back and sighing.

"Hey, what about _Chasing Amy_?" Weiss offered, picking it up.

"Not a Kevin Smith fan, and I _despise_ Ben Affleck," Sydney didn't even look up from the box she was reading.

Various comments and suggestions could be heard from other rows: "_Guinevere_?" or "_Legally Blonde_!" or "_Pirates of the Caribbean_?" followed by groans of protest or resistance from one or the other of the two friends.

"Can I help you?" A psychotically peppy voice cried out from behind them, giving Weiss a good scare. He dropped his arm and casually moved on, trying to catch his breath, and leaving Sydney to handle the clerk.

"We can't find a movie...or _agree_ on one is a better word," Sydney shot a dark look at Weiss, who shrugged innocently.

Awww, lovebirds," the girl put a hand to her breast and sighed happily. "I have just the ticket!" Weiss rolled his eyes behind her back, but Sydney smiled beatifically. "You can't resist!" she sang out as she jogged off in search of her prize.

"Hemlock?" Weiss asked under his breath as Sydney sidled up to him. She elbowed him sharply as the salesgirl returned.

"_Ocean's Eleven_," Sydney read aloud, smiling, raising an eyebrow at Weiss.

"I could go for that," he acquiesced after a moment's thought

"Perfect," Sydney took Weiss' arm. "Thank you, Colleen."

"'Welcome!" Colleen frolicked off to go harass someone else, and Weiss took their choice to the front counter to check out.

"She thought we were a couple," Sydney couldn't help but point out as they approached the register, keeping her voice low.

"Mmmm Hmmm," Weiss murmured, pretending to be distracted by a display of magazines and action figures.

"She thinks we look good together," she prodded.

"Your card, sir," the clerk held out his hand. Weiss produced it and watched him ring up their purchases.

"You don't think so?" Sydney whispered lightly, tantalizingly.

"Due back Tuesday," the clerk handed them the receipt and the film and Weiss pushed open the door to let Sydney exit first. She stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and waited for him to join her. She was eyeing him as if he were completely naked.

"Are you always this single-minded?" Weiss asked, in mock-aggravation.

"I prefer, 'determined,' and yes," she grinned, and he ruffled her hair playfully.

"Well, I prefer 'deranged,'" he chortled, and as the moment turned serious, so did he. "Let's go home," he suggested gruffly, but not before kissing her soundly, long and hard.

* * *

Weiss leaned up against the doors to the safe house and let out a long, relieved sigh.

"Everyone okay?" he panted, looking first at Sydney, and then at Agent Morris, both of whom he had just proceeded to herd through the door like cattle. "Was anyone shot?"

Sydney and Morris both shook their heads in wide-eyed surprise. It wasn't very often that either one of them got to see Weiss take charge in a tense situation. After they'd caught their breath, Sydney began to look around curiously. She'd never been to the Prague safe house before, but she knew the surrounding area and streets like she knew the back of her own hand. She was given maps to study and memorize, a contingency plan for most any mission. Usually if a mission was bungled or compromised, the best solution was to lay low for a night, a couple of days, before slipping away.

This safe house was little more than a shack, with a small kitchen area and a couch squeezed in, a back porch and a bathroom just off of the kitchenette. There was a single door that Sydney presumed led back to a bedroom. There was running water, but no electricity and only a small fireplace. Out of the porch, there were several army regulation cots set out, and more stacked against the wall.

Sydney and Weiss both had looked for this to be a very simple mission in the heart of Romania...they were just meeting one of her mother's contacts to try to arrange a trade for a Rambaldi document. Dixon was hoping said item would give them some clue as to what was next for Irina Derevko.

But they had been made as soon as they walked through the door and the operative's numerous and enthusiastically armed bodyguards had done an excellent job of sending them running, tails between their legs. Sydney wondered, fleetingly, ironically, how many missions she would have to botch before the CIA fired her. She was 0 for 2 on successful missions lately, which wasn't like her at all. She wondered if this whole mess with Weiss meant she was slipping. Or maybe it was _because_ of the whole mess with Weiss...

Across the room, the object of her ruminations was rummaging through the refrigerator, undoubtedly looking for a beer. With little luck, apparently, he slammed the door shut in frustration.

"I'm beat," Morris announced. He consulted his watch, "we have nine hours until extraction, I'm going to get some shut-eye." He let himself out onto the rear porch and Sydney watched him strike a match, then light a cigarette.

Sydney turned to Weiss almost guiltily, "we should probably get some sleep too."

Weiss let out a long sigh. "I wish we could get drunk."

"When we're home, and safe, I won't say no," Syd grinned and stepped towards the bedroom door.

"I'm going to crash on the couch, here," Weiss advised his voice threading through some of the nervousness he felt, and both partners looked over to what was a cross between an armchair and a loveseat dubiously.

"Weiss, that's ridiculous, there's no way you're going to be able to sleep in that thing."

Through the dim doorway of the bedroom, she could see a stark room with nothing but a single, hard-backed chair and a double bed.

"You take the bed, since you're taller, and I'll take the sofa," Sydney offered.

"Now what kind of man would that make me? To let you take the chair while I cozied up in the bed?"

"We could share it," Sydney suggested coyly, her eyebrow raised. "I doubt Morris will want to tag-team the both of us, especially since he'll probably have to smoke every 20 minutes until we're extracted."

"Sydney Bristow, I'm scandalized. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" Weiss realized his blunder the second it was out of his mouth. "Oh, Syd, I'm sorry."

"Don't be, it was funny," Syd jostled his shoulder, then sent him a knowing look. "Come share the bed with me. I promise not to try anything funny." She held up four fingers in a bizarre gesture that Weiss could only assume was some mockery of the Girl Scout salute.

"You were never a Scout," Weiss threw an arm over her shoulder as they headed for the back room, gently tousling her hair. "You have saboteur written all over you."

Sydney just laughed as she shut the door behind them.

Weiss awoke abruptly, his breathing coming fast. It was another bad dream; only this time, Irina had shot Sydney before sustaining a fatal bullet wound herself. They were coming more frequently these days; the closer he got to Sydney. Weiss let out a long, relieved sigh once his heart slowed it's frantic beat, and a soft answering exhalation from beside him let him know she was awake as well.

"Sorry," Weiss muttered.

"S'okay, I was awake," Sydney whispered.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You snore," she informed him matter-of-factly.

"Yeah, I know," Weiss rolled onto his back, and folded his arms beneath his head. "At home I sleep with a respirator at night, for the apnea."

"Reallllly?" Sydney rolled towards him, intrigued.

"Yeah, I've had it since I was fifteen. I almost died one night, not being able to breathe. My brother just happened to be up getting some water, and he heard me choking. My dad was home, thankfully, and they rushed me to the hospital," Weiss explained.

"I didn't know you had a brother," Sydney said softly.

"Two brothers, and four sisters," Weiss smiled warmly, reflectively. "My oldest brother, Timothy, he slept in the room with me, and he's the one that saved my life. And he never lets me forget it, believe me," he explained.

"What about the rest of your family?"

"Well, my older brother Mark was in a room down the hall because he couldn't sleep through the snoring, so we're not very close, not even now."

"What do they do?"

"Let's see...Mark is an investment banker, he lives in San Diego, and Tim lives in LA, he meets me and Mike sometimes for hockey, or at the bar. He's a great guy, I think you'd love him. He's a total hippie, has his own book store, downtown...and he's in a band," Weiss admitted the last, almost sheepishly.

"He's in a band?" Sydney laughed softly.

"Hey, I was their drummer in college," Weiss defended.

Sydney snorted in quiet laughter, then asked, "what about your sisters?"

"What's gotten you so curious about my family all of the sudden?" Weiss asked, a little suspiciously.

"No reason. You know, I don't have any siblings, are close cousins. I think this is interesting," she prodded his belly, compelling him to continue.

"Well, Isabelle is older than me, between Tim and Mark, and she lives San Francisco with her wife and their two kids, and she teaches school."

"She teaches school, and can afford to live in San Francisco?" Sydney asked incredulously.

"Well, her wife works for some computer company, and makes about $1000 per breath, so they're really lucky," Weiss explained, shifting in the bed to roll over and face her also. "The kids are fantastic, I just love them. I would have a dozen, if they could be like Belle's kids."

"Go on," Sydney encouraged, her voice still soft and wistful.

"Okay, Lanie lives in Baltimore, and she and her husband Rob and both librarians at the Christian College there, they really love that. Cassandra lives in Metarie, Louisiana, and is an architect for the city. They both are younger than me, but Lanie only by 18 months, and Cassandra by 3 years. My mom always calls us her "boom-boom" children, which just sounds _dirty _now."

"'Boom-boom?'" Sydney asked, her brows raised, seeking clarification.

"Oh, because we came along...boom, boom, boom," Weiss snapped his fingers with each "boom" for emphasis.

"Okay, one left," Sydney reminded him.

"Yes, Adelle is my youngest sister, and she is still in school. She came very late in life to my parents, a very surprising little addition to the family. She just turned sixteen, but she's my babe," Weiss explained fondly.

"Where do your parents live?" Sydney asked, tracing an inquisitive finger along her companion's shoulder blade.

"In L.A...but they keep threatening to move to some little fishing village on the coast. I think they are waiting for Dell to graduate," he filled in.

"They sound great," Sydney admitted, a little enviously.

"They keep bugging me to have you over for lunch one Sunday," he confessed.

"Weiss!" Sydney chastised. "What will they think about me? That I just _don't_ want to meet them?"

"No, no...they know I haven't asked you yet. I make a lot of excuses," Weiss told her honestly.

"What do you tell them?" her brow quirked curiously.

"Spies don't eat," he deadpanned.

"Seriously, Weiss."

"I've told them that I don't want to pressure you, which I don't."

"I'm not going to break," Sydney pointed out. "You don't have to protect me...try to wrap me in cotton. My father does that, it drives me insane," she rolled over onto her back.

"Listen, I'm not trying to shelter you. And I'm not trying to patronize you, I'm just saying the minute you walk through the front door, you're going to be in their cross-hairs. They'll quiz you about why we aren't dating, when we're going to start dating, if we're going to get married. And you know what? Dell will be the worse. She may be my babe, but she's my firewall. She'll interrogate you harder than Sloane or SD-6 ever thought about."

"She's that good, huh? Maybe we could recruit her," Sydney smiled, her ire forgotten.

"No way...in hell," Weiss replied swiftly. "As far as the Delly Belly is concerned, I work at the state department in a boring municipal job, and that's the way it stays. At least until she's forty."

"I understand," Sydney responded softly. "My father...he objected to my recruitment that adamantly. Sloane did it anyway," she tacked on wryly.

"Don't get me wrong, Dell would love this job. She's a crack shot, she loves spy movies and video games and books. She speaks German, she's learning Russian, and she's a math whiz. But it's just way too dangerous, and I won't ever risk her life like that."

"What about your parents?"

"Dave and Martha, been married forty two years, now they're both retired, so he bowls, and she plays Bunco."

"I meant, do they know?" Sydney asked, grinning. "I love how you've reduced your family down to characteristics and ridiculous nicknames, by the way."

"You like that, do you? Ahh, they know I work for the CIA, but I think they imagine my job as very desk-oriented, an analyst, or a tech support. They don't know I'm deep cover, nor will they ever know. I would like them to make it a few more years, at least."

Sydney shivered under the thin blanket, then tentatively shifted closer to Weiss, nestling her head onto his shoulder. His right arm reached instinctively, and he wrapped it around her protectively. Even though she felt safe, it still took a long time for her to get back to sleep.

* * *

"Do you love me?"

"You're asking me that now, after everything?"

"You've never said the words."

Vaughn met her gaze unflinchingly. "I love you. I've loved you since the first moment I saw you, and I will always love you, no matter who I marry and no matter how many times I bury you. I will never doubt again."

Sydney woke in a cold sweat, her heart aching with the memory of her love. She sat up in bed, restless, tired of being alone. She felt like she could crawl out of her own skin, get away from her own body. She swung her legs over the edge of the mattress, rubbing her face with one hand.

It wasn't just as simple as loving Weiss; she'd known that. There was pain, and regret, and _heartache _to work through. It just didn't seem fair that she had to work through it alone. Where was Will, to hold her, and comfort her? Where was Francie, to talk her through the worst of it, to have ice cream binges, and cry together? Where was the loving mother she'd always dreamed of having, to nurture and care for her the way only a mother could?

Sydney rose stealthily from the bed and found her terrycloth robe in the pitch black by way of touch. She covered her cotton nightgown and let herself out the back door. The grass was soft and damp with dew against her bare feet. The wind chime on the back porch sang idly.

She knew Weiss always kept his windows open at night—especially in the spring. She crawled over the sill, his curtains gently tickling her face in the midnight breeze.

Weiss was snoring loudly, much in the way she imagined a hibernating bear slept. He awoke, alert, when her weight depressed the empty side of the bed.

"It's me," she whispered.

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" he asked, panicked, but equally sleepy.

"Nightmare," she crawled in next to him and cuddled her head on his shoulder, snuggling underneath his arm. "I'll just stay a few minutes," she promised.

But she and Weiss were both asleep without another thought.

* * *

Sydney awoke slowly, basking in the warm glow of sunshine coming in through the bedroom window. She sighed dreamily, and shifted, feeling her legs intimately entangled with Weiss'. She'd never been able to sleep that closely with anyone before, especially considering the trust issues she had. She supposed she was growing up, maturing, finally hearing the call of matrimonial instinct. Weiss stirred also, stopping abruptly when he felt Syd's body so close to his own, her hair fanned across his shoulder and her head pillowed against his firm pectoral muscles. She moaned against his skin, still lost in sleep, her lips barely brushing the flesh there. Weiss felt himself grow even harder.

Sydney's nightgown wasn't helping the situation, though it was the very epitome of decency. High-necked and even a little frilly, it easily came down to her ankles. But there was something about its very propriety that made it so enticing. Half of the LA field office had seen her half-naked on various occasions—in costume on missions, and knowing what was under that prim white cotton was an alluring part of the fantasy.

But it was more than that, even. It was the wholesomeness of the garment that Weiss loved most. It was a symbol that Sydney wasn't cut out to be a devious, conniving spy. Maybe she was meant to be something all together more _motherly_.

Weiss shook himself out of _that_ train of thought immediately. If anyone was going to make Sydney Bristow into a mother, it certainly wasn't going to be _him_. He looked down to see her staring back at him, awake now, her big doe-eyes wide with surprise at his current condition.

"Syd," he said gruffly, beginning to pull away.

"No, don't," she pleaded, a little shyly. He relaxed, a little, enough for her to release him and prop herself up to look at him. She took careful inventory of his room, his face, his body, his bed. Maybe it didn't matter so much that she didn't have Francie, or Will, or her mother. It starting to matter less and less everyday that she didn't have Vaughn. In many ways, Weiss was filling the void in her heart that her friends had left behind. Sure, Will would be back, someday, and she might even reconcile with her mother, eventually. Even friendship with Vaughn and Lauren seemed less daunting with every day that passed.

It was hard to know if Weiss was the cause, the solution, or if it was just her own selfishness receding. Whatever the reason, it didn't hurt quite so much as it used to, and that's all Sydney could bring herself to care about.

To be continued...


End file.
